


not like we used to be

by nightswatch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Grimmauld Place, M/M, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius waits for Remus to come back from business he's taking care of for the Order. When he returns he looks a bit more battered than Sirius expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not like we used to be

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so I've never written fic for this pairing and I don't know much about the Wolfstar Fanfic Writing Etiquette that undoubtedly exists, but I'm rereading Order of the Phoenix and I basically just had to write this.

Sometimes Sirius wants to scream just to fill the silence. It is quiet, always so quiet. Talking to Buckbeak isn’t exactly satisfying either. He might as well talk to himself. A floorboard creaks somewhere, a sure sign of Kreacher nicking something upstairs. Sirius doesn’t investigate, his fingers are glued to a glass of Firewhisky and he isn’t moving.

He’s waiting. Has been waiting for days.

The house is particularly empty this week. People come and go, but they never stick around for too long. Sirius can’t blame them. He’d leave as well if he could. Sometimes Sirius isn’t sure if the people who come by so casually to drop something off for someone else aren’t just sent here to check if he’s still in hiding, if he’s following orders. Sirius huffs at the thought.

Anyway, the person he wants to walk through his front door the most, the person who’s been elusive for five days, four hours and forty-five minutes – give or take a few – is Remus Lupin.

See, Sirius is not worried. But that blasted silence that he loathes so much is so much more bearable when Remus is around. Then it’s not only Kreachers footsteps that echo in the empty house, then Sirius sleeps a little better at night. And, all right, maybe he is a tad worried.

Remus should be back by now, he should have been back last night, to be precise. So Sirius sits in the kitchen and waits. Something smells weird and there are breadcrumbs scattered all over the table and there’s also something sticky that might have been there for a while. It has occurred to Sirius that he could clean up around here to distract himself, but all it would take is a flick of a wand. So he waits.

Remus’ task is easy enough, he’s just supposed to make contact with a number of people. Three people. Sirius doesn’t know any details, but he assumes that it should be easy enough and he doesn’t know what’s taking Remus so long. After three days Sirius started to pace, now he just stares at the open kitchen door.

He’s not quite sure how much longer he’ll stare until _a tad_ worried will turn into _extremely_ worried.

When midnight has come and gone, Sirius is starting to consider going back to pacing. Half an hour and another glass of Firewhiskey later, the front door clicks open. Sirius is on his feet a moment later, not sure if he should hope that it’s Remus or if he should just prepare himself for the disappointment he’ll undoubtedly feel when it’s not him.

Before he’s decided, he’s out in the hallway and Remus is standing there, his tattered coat wrapped tightly around himself. He looks utterly wrecked – his lip is split and there’s blood trickling down his cheek from somewhere under his hair.  

“Remus?” Sirius only says. Remus is smart, he’ll understand that Sirius wants him to explain what is going on.

“Sorry,” Remus says and shrugs off his coat. He nods at his muddy shoes. “About the mess.”

Sirius couldn’t care less that Remus is ruining his carpet. “That’s really not what I meant,” he says impatiently. Remus is bleeding, he was supposed to just _talk_ to a few people, he should not be bleeding.

Remus touches a finger to his lip and flinches. “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that,” Sirius says. He takes a step closer, but freezes there.

 “It’s nothing, really.” _I’ve had worse_ , is what Remus is actually saying. He clears his throat. “You’re up late,” he says, but he doesn’t actually sound surprised.

Sirius only shrugs and shuffles back into the kitchen, trusts that Remus will follow him. He does, leaving muddy footprints in his wake. Sirius doesn’t miss that he eyes the bottle of Firewhiskey on the table with interest, so he pours some for Remus.

Remus nods when Sirius hands him the glass. He sinks down onto the bench with a weary sigh. Sirius joins him and waits. Again. “So,” Sirius says, “it’s been a rough couple of days, huh?”

Remus chortles, winces, takes a sip of the Firewhisky, and winces again. “You could say that, yes.” He takes another sip and makes a face. “Things went rather smoothly at first, but I ran into a couple of issues with the last contact. We met at a Muggle pub tonight.”

“Was he the one who–”

“No,” Remus interrupts, shaking his head. “I was on my way back here, but one of the Muggles at the pub, he seemed to dislike me for some reason.”

“For some reason?” Sirius echoes. “Did he... Merlin’s beard, Moony...” The name sounds wrong to his own ears. Moony is a boy, Moony, his Moony, is not the person who’s sitting next to him right now. Moony is lost in the same place as Padfoot, in the same place where James is still alive and Peter has not sold out one of his best friend to Lord Voldemort. Sirius shakes his head. Those thoughts are always a dangerous place to go. He takes a deep breath. “Did you get yourself involved in a pub brawl?” Laughter bubbles in his chest. “What the bloody hell happened?”

“It was a rather one-sided brawl,” Remus mutters. “I did my best to make a quick escape. The point in meeting there was not to attract attention and... Sirius, stop laughing.” He smiles, only for a moment. It’s bound to hurt with that split lip.

Sirius is very well aware that laughter might not be the most appropriate reaction to this, but he’s so relieved that Remus is all right. Well, mostly all right. Sirius nods at Remus’ face. “You okay there?”

Remus absent-mindedly rubs at the dried blood on his cheek. “Yes, don’t worry.”

_Don’t worry_ , he says. Sirius huffs.

Remus gulps down the rest of the whisky and sets the glass down on the table behind them with a quiet clink. He drops his hand into his lap, except that his fingers end up splayed not only on his own thigh but also on Sirius’.

Somehow Sirius feels himself wanting to jump up and maybe pace up and down the kitchen or clean that table after all or make sure that Remus won’t bleed to death – which is fucking ridiculous, really, because that split lip is probably one of the most minor injuries that Remus has ever had. In any case, Sirius definitely can’t just sit here with Remus Lupin’s pinkie finger burning a hole into his thigh.

He makes it for about one more minute, then he gets up. He ignores the startled look on Remus’ face and goes to wet a clean rag, so Remus can wipe that blood off his cheek. He hands the rag over but remains standing, watching as Remus dabs and rubs at his face. He doesn’t get it all off and Sirius wants to reach out to help him and simultaneously wants to flee the room.

It’s not a new feeling, he’s known it ever since Remus has moved in with him. Of course, Sirius knows that they can never go back to who they were, well, _before_. Too much time has passed, too many things have happened, and yet. Sometimes he can’t help but wonder.

He sits back down next to Remus and takes the rag from him, quickly wiping away the remainder of the blood. Remus’ eyes flutter shut. He always looks tired these days. There’s business he has to take care off for the Order and then there’s the moon, always the moon. It’s not pleasant, even with the potion.

Sirius wants to ruffle his hair, crack a joke, wants to forget for a moment who they are and what they have to do. He traces a scar that runs along Remus’ jaw line. There’s no blood there, but he allows himself to be nostalgic for a moment. Remus has had that scar for a long time and Sirius remembers planting a row of kisses there on a cold evening when it had just been the two of them in their room in Gryffindor Tower.

Remus sighs again, but it doesn’t sound all that weary this time. For a second, Sirius thinks that Remus might have just remembered the exact same thing. Or maybe he’s imagining things. It’s probably just that, he’s driving himself mad in this house. He flings the rag on the counter and watches out of the corner of his eye as Remus yawns.

He doesn’t get up, though, doesn’t say that he should go to bed. He remains sitting next to Sirius, their thighs almost touching. It would be so easy to lean a little closer, to rest his head on Remus’ shoulder. Sirius just looks at him instead. He’s staring down at his hands, his hair has fallen into his eyes. He’s probably about to fall asleep right here, sitting on this uncomfortable bench. Sirius almost wants to send him off to bed himself, but something stops him.

Sirius has no idea for how long Remus will be here and even though they’re sitting in silence, it’s really so much better than the sort of deafening silence that falls over the house when it’s just him here. Eventually, when neither of them has moved or said a word, Sirius pours each of them a bit more Firewhisky. There’s not a lot left, but at least it gives him something to hold on to.

He watches Remus take a sip, watches him swallow. He watches Remus a lot these days and sometimes, most of the time, he catches him looking back at him. There are many things that have gone unsaid between them. Sirius has yet to find the right words.

It’s Remus who finally breaks the silence. “How have you been?”

Sirius only grunts, because what sort of answer is Remus expecting? He knows that it’s an attempt at an at least vaguely normal conversation, but Sirius is stuck here and he is fed up with it, but Remus knows that already and there’s no need for Sirius to tell him again.

“I figured as much,” Remus says lightly.

“How’s your lip?” Sirius asks, almost defiantly.

“I probably shouldn’t be drinking Firewhisky,” Remus says and takes another sip. “Doesn’t feel too great, to be honest. But, as I said, it’s nothing.”

Sirius hums. The things he’d give to be involved in a good old Muggle pub brawl. Or to just step outside for a minute. But Dumbledore won’t have it and it makes Sirius angry. Back in the day he wouldn’t have cared at all about what anyone told him to do, but now he does as he’s told and that makes him even angrier for some reason. He clenches his hands, unclenches them, downs his whisky.

“Sirius...” Remus trails off. He looks like he might have wanted to say something reassuring but changed his mind because he knows that it won’t mean very much to Sirius right now.

Instead, Remus’ fingers curl around his arm, thumb brushing back and forth over his skin. Sirius understands, no words needed now. Remus knows what it’s like not to have control over your own life. Sirius watches Remus’ thumb. It’s torturous because it’s not enough, nowhere near enough, but he can’t ask for anything more than this. He should be grateful for the fleeting touches.

Although at this point he really can’t call this _fleeting_ anymore. It’s not that sort of half-hug that they give each other when Remus gets back after he’s been gone for a while, it’s not a casual pat on the back, it’s not an accidental brush of hands. Sirius wants to ask what’s going on, but he’s afraid that Remus will realise what he’s doing if Sirius opens his mouth.

Eventually, Remus stills and slowly pulls away his hand. He exhales softly, glances at Sirius. “Full moon’s next week. I don’t think I’ll be sent anywhere else until then, I just have to talk to a few people tomorrow, that’s it.”

Sirius nods, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want Remus to feel bad just because he’s doing his job. It’s not his fault that Sirius is stuck here. Occasionally Sirius forgets and snaps at him, but Remus has never snapped back at him. So far.

He can tell that Remus is still staring at him, so Sirius finally looks up as well. He probably shouldn’t have done that, because Remus is literally right next to him and Sirius wants to run his fingers through his hair and pull him close and kiss that scar on the line of his jaw. Remus licks his lips, tilts his head, still stares at him.

Sirius feels like jumping up again. But he can’t this time, not when Remus is looking at him like that. He holds very still and he’s not even sure if he’s breathing properly when Remus lifts his hand, fingers shaking ever so slightly, cups Sirius’ cheek and kisses him.

It only takes Sirius a moment to catch up on what is happening and he kisses him back and Remus whines lowly. Right, he should be a bit more careful with that lip of his. “Sorry,” Sirius whispers.

Remus only pulls him into another kiss and a moment later Sirius has his hands in his hair and is pulling him closer. It doesn’t seem real, but Sirius knows that it is, because it _feels_ real, not like it used to, but there’s a certain need behind it. All those things he hasn’t said to Remus, all the words Sirius hasn’t found yet, they’re right there and he just keeps kissing Remus and hopes he understands.

Sirius isn’t sure how much time has passed when they pull apart. Remus’ forehead is still resting against his and there are fingers slowly carding through Sirius’ hair. He knows that Remus will want to talk about this, but Sirius isn’t in the mood for talking, so he kisses Remus one more time. He does want to know if he’ll still be allowed to do this tomorrow, and the day after that, but he’s not sure if he’d like the answer, so he nudges Remus, who is probably about to fall asleep on him anyway and says, “You should go to bed.”

Remus sighs, his nose bumps against Sirius’ and then he gets to his feet. “So should you.” He gives Sirius a stern look, but his eyes are soft, and he holds out his hand.

After a moment’s hesitation, Sirius takes it and smirks as they walk past his mother’s hidden portrait hand in hand. They kiss again at the bottom of the stairs, and at the top of the stairs and Sirius doesn’t ask questions when Remus pulls him into his room and, after they’ve stumbled out of their clothes, into his bed.

Sirius steals another kiss, he can’t help it, he doesn’t want the one at the top of the stairs to be the last one. He doesn’t want this one to be the last one. Remus yawns and Sirius decides that it has to be the last one for tonight after all and hopes that there will be more in the morning. Remus wraps an arm around him under the covers and whispers, “Goodnight, Padfoot.”

Sirius smiles into the darkness. “Goodnight, Moony,” he says and closes his eyes.

The house is quiet again, although that’s not quite true. Sirius can hear Remus breathing and he can hear his own heart thumping in his chest. It’s not so bad like this. Being here really is bearable when Moony is here and his face is tucked against the back of Sirius’ neck.


End file.
